by J. W. Lucas
“Mr. Richardson nice to meet you. Mrs.Moran, let’s go into the family room and talk about your husband’s treatment plan,” he said pointing across the lobby.
“Doctor if you don’t object I’d like Daryl to sit in with us.”
“No objection at all, this way please,” he said guiding us into a small room with a sofa, recliner and coffee table. He closed the door and took a seat in the recliner. He put on his professional face.
“Mrs. Moran, your husband’s injuries were very serious. He had two bullet wounds, left shoulder, and his back.”
“He was lucky that his spine and vital organs weren’t catastrophically damaged. I removed both bullets and quite frankly I was surprised that there weren’t exit wounds.”
“What?” I blurted out as Lindsey and the doc turned and looked at me. “I’m sorry doctor; did you say neither bullet exited his body?”
“Correct no exit wounds. But that’s not all that surprised me.”
Lindsey and I looked at each other again and turned our attention back to the doctor. If he was baiting us, he was doing a great job.
“I removed the shoulder bullet first; it looks like a nine-millimeter from my experience. It was lodged in his scapula. There were some bone chips but miraculously no significant damage.”
He continued. “The back wound was more severe, there was a slight injury to his left kidney that caused some internal bleeding, but I was able to repair it and we gave him several transfusions,”
I looked over at Lindsey and saw that her complexion was ashen white, and her eyes looked a little glassy.
“Mrs. Moran, I don’t mean to upset you, but I’m telling you all this because despite the trauma your husband sustained he came through the surgery without any significant complications. He was put on the ventilator for twenty-four hours, his body tolerated it, he’s breathing on his own now and I’m optimistic.”
“Doctor, you mentioned that something else surprised you other than no exit wounds?”
“Right. Yes. The bullet I took out of his back was much larger, looked like a 308 caliber, or a hunting rifle bullet. I’m not a forensic expert, but I’m sure the police can identify it.”
Lindsey looked at me and I stared back in stunned silence. I could see that she was processing what the doctor had just said as was I.
“There’s one more thing, neither bullet was copper jacketed, both were soft lead. Very unusual.”
“Doctor,” Lindsey slowly asked, “are you telling us that two people shot my husband?”
The surgeon didn’t respond, just shrugged his shoulders. “Or one person with two weapons” I opined.
“What? How could that be?”
“Doctor, did you turn the bullets over to the police?”
“No. The OR team followed hospital protocols. Photographed them, filled out the chain of custody and sealed them in separate containers. They were turned over to Security.”
“Doctor, what happens now with my husband’s treatment?” Lindsey asked.
“We’ll keep him in ICU for a few days so that we can closely monitor him for any signs of infection. So far, his labs look as I would expect them to post-surgery. He’s still groggy but I expect that will improve over the next forty-eight hours. His blood pressure is stable, and as I said he’s breathing on his own. He’ll stay on oxygen for a while and will be getting his IV meds. For the time being, he needs to rest and let his body start the healing process.”
I sat back as Lindsey asked about any permanent disability, physical rehab, special diet down the road but I was distracted from it all as I was still processing how the Judge could have been shot with two separate caliber high-velocity weapons without exit wounds and live. And soft lead bullets. Reloads? I thought to myself.
Dr. Mongello stood up, excused himself saying that he had to start patient rounds, and encouraged Lindsey to call his office if she had any other questions. I stood up, thanked the doc and as he left the room and sank back down it the sofa. Neither of us spoke.
After a minute or two, Lindsey turned to me. “Daryl, what does all this mean? This is a nightmare. Why would two people want to shoot my husband? What possibly could he have done to them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know But I’ll do my best to find out.”
Lindsey stood up and said she was going back up to the ICU. She asked if I wanted to go, but I declined.
What I really wanted was a drink. I started across the lobby and saw Security Manager Tom Hines and waved to get his attention.
“Hey Mr. Richardson!” he greeted me with hand extended. We shook, and he asked, “How’s Mrs. Moran doing?”
“Better today. Tom, thanks for all of your help yesterday, it meant a lot to her.”
“I really didn’t do anything. Kaitlyn had the lead on that.”
“Yeah, she was great. Tom, Mrs. Moran and I just met with her husband’s surgeon and he mentioned that he removed two bullets and turned them over to Security. What’s the hospital protocol for handling police evidence?”
Without hesitation, he answered. “The OR calls Security to take possession of the bullets and we check to make sure the chain of custody is filled out and that the envelope they’re in is sealed, taped closed, and initialed across the tape. We log the envelope into the safe.”
I was ready to ask what happens next, but he continued. “The OR notifies Legal by email that they’ve taken possession of possible crime evidence. Legal notifies Security by email, but, Kaitlyn also calls me, and I call the police department and tell them we have the evidence.”
So far so good I thought. He continued, “Legal won’t let us release it without the police getting a search warrant. When they show up Legal, usually Kaitlyn reviews the warrant and if she says it’s OK, we release the envelope.
“What would we ever do without Kaitlyn?” I said with a smile.
“Tom, have the police picked up the bullets?”
“No, I looked at the daily inventory sheet this morning and the envelope is still in the safe.”
“Thanks, Tom, sounds like you have a good handle on things.”
“Mr. Richardson, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“At our morning safety briefing Nursing brought up their concern that we have a shooting victim in ICU, a high-profile patient as they described him, and the police haven’t made an arrest. The staff is saying they’re worried about their safety and want to know what the hospital is doing to protect them.”
“I’m not surprised with the times we’re living in. How did you handle it?” I asked.
“Not very well I’m afraid, given the looks I got from spme of the Nursing staff. We’re doing extra security rounds, I’ve briefed the reception desk staff to be extra careful screening visitors, but that’s about all I can do.”
“Tom, you’ve probably had shooting victims here before, how have you handled them?”
“We have, usually the local or State PDs are involved and they’re great to work with. They fill me in on any concerns that they have, but Mr. Moran’s case is different. I’m dealing with the County Sheriffs.”
“Have you spoken to anyone up there?” I asked.
“I called the Department and explained why I was calling. The Operator put me through to some Captain’s phone mail. He hasn’t called me back.”
“Captain Carpa?”
“Yeah, that’s the name. So far nothing back from him.”
“Well Tom, I don’t know what to tell you. Sounds like you’re doing your best. If I learn anything that might suggest that the hospital is in danger I assure you I’ll let you know right away.”
We shook hands, and I went out to the garage and drove out thinking that I really could use that drink. I couldn’t get it out of my mind: two different weapons, soft lead bullets. One shooter? Two? I pulled into the hotel lot and parked. Almost three in the afternoon isn’t too early for an adult beverage I convinced myself without internal debate and headed into the lounge
.
It was empty except for my bar maiden friend from last night. She had her back to me taking inventory of the bottles on the glass shelves. Today she had on white jeans that nicely accented her curves. She turned as she heard me walk up to the bar.
“Hey!” she said with a smile. “You’re early, what a nice surprise!”
“Hey! It’s after noon so I guess it’s OK” I responded with equal cheer.
“You can come visit me anytime you want,” she said, looking straight into my eyes with a coy smile. I hadn’t noticed last night, but she had piercing blue eyes. If I had to guess she was mid-thirties, and I caught the seductive scent of that perfume.
“Draft?” she asked as she reached to grab a frosted mug.
“No, I think I’d like a double Martel, over ice, one cube please.”
“Ooooh! Cognac. I like it! Shall that be stirred, not shaken Sir?” as she turned to grab the bottle from the top shelf.
“Stirred is fine.” I said with a nod.
She quickly poured what looked like a triple, delicately placed one ice cube, stirred with a flourish and placed the glass on the bar.
“There’s nobody here, sit at the bar and talk to me,” she said in an inviting lilt that no red-blooded American male could refuse.
I noticed she didn’t wear a diamond or wedding band.
“By the way, you know my name, but I didn’t catch yours last night.”
“I didn’t throw it, but it’s Daryl,” I said.
She reached out and took my hand “Daryl, I’m Mandy, so very nice to meet you!”
Soft hands. She was running up points quickly on my scorecard.
“You’re here early,” I commented.
“So are you! Today’s my twelve-hour shift; a second bartender comes on at seven. The hotel is booked heavy and we’ll probably have a nice after dinner crowd.”
“Soooo… my new friend Daryl, last night you said you weren’t a reporter.”
“No, I’m not a reporter.”
“Do you remember the three guys sitting at the bar when you were in here last night? They’re deputies in Abbot County. Regulars here, not favorites of mine. They were checking you out.”
“Checking me out? When they had you in front of them? How dare them!”
She let out a laugh. “No silly, they said you looked like a cop. They were debating it and said they didn’t recognize you, and they know all the cops around here.”
‘So, who won the debate?”
“They decided you were FBI. Are you?”
“Nope.”
She leaned over the bar close to my face and said with a tease in her voice, “OK Mr. Daryl, who are you really?” Today her blue blouse was open two buttons south of the collar and I tried not to stare.
“I’m a lawyer Mandy.”
“Oh! How cool! Wait till I tell those guys when I see them they were so wrong,” she said excitedly.
“You know what? Why don’t we let that be our little secret and keep them guessing? That way you’ll really be one up on them,” I said, trying to curb her enthusiasm and maintaining the low profile I wanted to keep.
She thought a moment and said “I like it. Deal!” extending her hand for another soft handshake.
I took a sip of the Martel and set the glass on the bar. The warm feeling as I swallowed was just what I needed
I watched her as she went back to her inventory chores and couldn’t help but see that her moves were more sensuous than when I came in. She could work a crowd herself, even a crowd of one.
I thought about the three deputies and hoped that she was as trustworthy keeping a secret as she was beautiful. From what I had heard about the Abbot Sheriffs the past two days, and my encounter with the unmarked Taurus, I had to keep a look over my shoulder. I had thought I left that feeling in Boston.
I felt the vibration from the cell phone in my shirt pocket. I looked and saw it was an incoming call from “Chief.” It was my ex-boss, US Attorney Damian Costigan. I got up from the bar and walked to a corner table and sat down as I pressed the accept icon.
“Hello, Boss.”
“DARYL! What the hell are you up to in Abbot County Vermont? I thought you said you were going home for a few weeks.”
“That was the plan, but I decided to check out an inn I read about.”
“Well, you caught the interest of the local gendarmes up there. They ran your plate, and the computer alerted us. You weren’t tearing up their roads with your new car, were you?”
Before I could respond he added “And I got a message to return a call to some County Executive. Hell, I don’t know any county execs. Are you in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that.” I paused and said, “You have a few minutes Boss?” I guess my serious tone caught his attention.
“Of course, I do. Talk to me.”
I gave him a quick rundown on the Judge getting shot, my relationship with him and Lindsey, the surgeon who operated on the Judge reporting two different caliber bullets, my one shooter or two conundrums, the recent unsolved murder of Susan Peterson and what I had learned from Dan Petrone about the County and State political rift.
He listened without interrupting, and when I finished he let out a long “Jesus.”
“Daryl, I don’t like how this sounds. The Boston paper had a small article about a judge getting shot, but it didn’t say anything about an unsolved murder in the same town. Jesus! Why hasn’t the State stepped in? For Christ’s sake, it was a judge that got shot, one of their own. Is he going to make it?” he asked.
I told him that the doctor was optimistic, but it was going to be a day-to-day process. I looked up and saw Mandy bringing my glass to the table. She put her finger to her lips to let me know she was respecting my privacy and went back to the bar.
“Daryl, you do know that you don’t have any jurisdiction up there, it’s not a Federal case.”
“I know that. I’m just trying to gather some information on what happened to the Judge that maybe will help the County Attorney get enough leverage for the State guys to get involved.”
“I hear you, but I still don’t like it. I know you. And I know how you can dig into things. You did some great work for me these past two years and I’m grateful for how much recognition you brought to my office. But my first concern is your safety.”
“Well, thanks. I appreciate that, but I just can’t walk away from this.”
The Boss paused for a few moments. “OK, I understand. Now I’m curious about what this County Exec wants with me. I’m going to call him right now and I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks, Boss, I appreciate that.”
“Just be damn careful Daryl. You have a lot to live for.”
“Understood,” and I pressed the end icon. I sat at the table for a few minutes to think. I was right. That son-of-a-bitch Taurus ran my plate. Why? All I did was stop at the Courthouse, speak with Dan Petrone, and eat a hotdog and left. I was only in town for an hour and a half. I didn’t speed; I put my empty soda can in the recycling bin. Why?
I got up and went back to my stool at the bar. Mandy turned and leaned over, cradling her face in her hands.
“The little woman tracking down her MIA husband?”
I shook my head no.
“Mistress?”
I cracked a smile and shook my head no.
“Girlfriend?” she squeaked.
“None of the above!” and thought to myself, yes, this girl liked to play.
“Good, but you did look like there was trouble in Paradise.”
“My office. A business matter, nothing to fret about.”
“Well I don’t like seeing you like that,” she said with a pout.
I guess I must have missed the quantum leap our relationship had taken for her to say that. In a strange way, I was becoming fascinated by her. I wonder how she would react if she knew who I really was. She continued her storekeeping, and we didn’t talk.
I drank about half the glass of Martel and noti
ced my tab face down on the bar. $7.50 was the tariff, and I dropped a ten on the bar. I stood up; she turned and said with a laugh “Leaving so soon? We were just starting to get along so well!”
I laughed in return and answered that I wanted to get changed and cleaned up.
“Will I see you tonight?” Her tone sounded hopeful. Obviously, I’m the eternal optimist.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She gifted me with her sweetest smile and I went up to my room.
I saw that the maid had cleaned up, the bed was made, fresh towels in the bathroom. I went in, took off my shirt and rinsed my face with cold water. It felt good, and I decided to lie down and rest before I grabbed some dinner. The mattress was soft, a welcome departure from the rock- hard granite slab bedding you often find in a hotel.
I must have fallen asleep and was jolted awake when I heard my phone vibrating on the bedside table. I glanced at the clock radio and saw it was 4:40. I grabbed the phone, saw “Chief,” and answered.
“Hello?” It was Damien.
“Daryl, you OK? I called about an hour ago, but you didn’t pick up.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m at the hotel, I must have dozed off.
“You alone?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I have some information for you. You’re not on speaker, are you?”
“No. What’s going on, Boss?”
“I spoke with the County Exec and he’s mad as hell that you’re poking around in his backyard. Sounds like you’ve stepped into a mine- field, my friend.”
I didn’t like what he was saying but, didn’t respond. “You have something to write on?” he asked.
“Yeah, just a minute.” I sat up, pulled the notebook and pen out from my suit coat pocket and sat down at the dresser desk.
“OK, go ahead.”
“His name is Warren Donnelly. He told me that he got wind that you were questioning his County Attorney about the Judge getting shot and the lack of progress in finding the girl’s murderer. He said that he has full confidence in his Sheriff, a guy named Hunter, and he doesn’t appreciate the Federal government sticking our noses into his County business.”